Marisa 2: An Incident In Paris
by Prof. Voodoo
Summary: Marisa & Elio are sent on a mission outside Italy, but with little time to prepare things do not go as planned.


_This is a fan-fiction. The author does not own the property of the original concept, nor any characters from Yu Aida's original._

"It's getting dark Marisa..." advised Petrushka, "maybe it's time we went inside."

The younger girl sighed and admitted the obvious, it was already about 10pm, they had to be getting back to the dorm sometime tonight. She wished she could stay here, with Elio, at Chief Lorenzo's house. The girls at the dorm hated her, and she was miserable there.

The 2 girls, along with their handlers & Section 2 Chief Lorenzo had gone on a "mission" to have dinner with a generous old lady that they both now referred to as _Mama Galati_, and return her heirloom gold ring that had belonged to her murdered son. Marisa had been the one who finally killed Doriano Galati's murderer, so she had the honor of presenting the kindly old woman her son's ring after dinner.

It had been emotional for everyone, and unfortunately it had overwhelmed Marisa. She'd had one of her typical "Marisa moments" and hurt Petrushka's handler Alessandro. It wasn't too bad though, and Sandro forgave her (Marisa wasn't quite sure if she was _officially_ forgiven for smashing the hood of her handler's car, yet). They had all gone to Chief Lorenzo's house after the visit to Mama Galati, and the girls had been allowed to play with the boss' dog for the last few hours.

**_Scotch Whisky, Cigars & Sandwiches_**

"What time is it?" muttered Alessandro, looking for a clock through the haze of cigar smoke & whisky fumes.

"Look at the watch on your wrist" Lorenzo told him..."I don't like clocks in my study."

"Oh yeah, my watch." muttered the young man. He stared at it but seemed unable to read the numbers.

Elio laughed. "Well, we know who's _not_ driving back to HQ tonight."

"No...no driving." agreed Sandro, leaning his head back and waving off the suggestion. The room was _spinning_. The 3 men had been drinking scotch and smoking cigars in Lorenzo's study just as long as the 2 cyborgs had been playing in the yard. None of them was in a fit state to take the girls back to the dorm tonight.

"You doing okay, Sandro?" asked Elio Alboreto, "Maybe you need some water, or a bite to eat."

"No way! Not a chance" groaned Rissi. "That old lady wouldn't let me stop eating all afternoon. I'm not gonna be able to look at food for a week."

"Speaking of food, what about the girls...they've missed supper at the dining hall by now" Elio pointed out. Lorenzo waved toward the kitchen and asked "Do they know how to cook for themselves?"

"Do you have good fire insurance?" replied Elio.

"Got it...no cooking" Lorenzo muttered "There's plenty of sandwich stuff in the refrigerator."

"Those 2 ate more than I did!" exclaimed Alessandro, "Do you really think...?"

"Yes" Elio answered "I'd bet my whole paycheck on it...I don't know about your girl but Marisa will be hungry again before the night is over."

The 3 men could hear doors opening & slamming downstairs. "Well, either that's the girls or we're under Padania attack." muttered Lorenzo, "whoever it is they're not getting their hands on my god damn scotch." His dog was the first to rush into the study, with the 2 cyborgs close behind. Petra coughed and waved the smoke out of her face but Mari seemed un-effected.

"Should we be getting back to the dorm soon?" Petrushka inquired. Marisa stayed silent, and looked at the tall girl as if she were a traitor for reminding the grown-ups.

"None of us can drive right now Petra," admitted her handler, "we'll probably just have to call a car from the Agency to come pick us up."

"I could drive!" Petrushka suggested. She had been _begging_ Alessandro to show her how.

"You could drive what?" Alessandro asked, "Which one of these men are going to hand their car keys over to an unlicensed 16 year old? The one with the 500 horsepower BMW, or the one with the Maserati that costs over a hundred thousand euros?" Petrushka gave a disappointed whine, but accepted that it _wasn't gonna happen_.

"Don't worry about it...we can all just ride in tomorrow" Lorenzo told them, too drunk to care anymore.

That offer made Marisa's heart sing! She didn't have to go back to the awful dorm for a whole night! One question, however, weighed heavily on her mind, "Ummm, Chief Lorenzo, Sir, is there anything for supper?"

* * *

At around 9am both Lorenzo & Elio awoke. They were both in the habit of being fully dressed before leaving their bed-rooms. A lazy breakfast in their pyjamas did not hold the same appeal for them as it did for Triela.

They found Alessandro and the 2 cyborgs still in the study, all still asleep on the couch. Petrushka had her head on Sandro's chest, and Marisa had her head in Petra's lap. A quick inspection of Lorenzo's kitchen found it in severe disarray, the aftermath of the girls creative sandwich making efforts.

"You want me to make them clean this up before we leave?" Elio asked the Chief, but Lorenzo was too hung over to care. "Leave it for the maid" he muttered, "let's go get some breakfast at work."

About an hour later the kitchen staff and most of Section 2 watched a strange scene in the dining hall. Their Section Chief (who never ate in the dining hall), 2 handlers, and their 2 cyborgs sat eating in total silence...Alessandro & the 2 cyborg girls were wearing the same clothes they had on yesterday, and all of them reeked of cigar smoke. The mangled hood on Elio's BMW just created more questions, conjectures & rumors to the agency gossip mill.

* * *

Several days passed. Marisa was doing well, although she still had a lot of anxiety about the other girls in the dorm. Petrushka was now a trusted friend, but she spent her free time with the older looking Generation 2 girls, and Marisa felt uncomfortable around them. She tried hanging out with her room-mate Amelia & the bomb squad girls, but that was so boring it was like being alone.

The days were filled with classes and hard training. Class was not much fun, even math. Miss Priscilla was always busy with the girls who did not "get it" like Marisa. Hillshire taught languages & literature...which Marisa struggled with. Ferro taught history, but her lectures were dry and boring. At least her tests were easy. Geography was Giuseppe Croce, and she hated it because he was Henrietta's handler.

Giuse's brother Jean was responsible for the arts, but he didn't put much effort in, so the class usually watched movies and then wrote an essay on the film.

It was training that Marisa lived for. She got to spend time with Elio, which was becoming a heartbreaking rarity these days. Back when the lived at the Dive Training Center he was with her _all the time_. Elio was her primary teacher, her dive partner, & undisputedly _hers_ alone. Now she had to share him with a hundred other concerns. He promised her they would take a diving trip as soon as there was time, but he was very busy right now. Separation from the sea was painful for her.

**_An Herbal Bath_**

Jean stomped into the mission planning room and slammed a folder down on his desk. Several idle handlers jumped at the sight of him in a bad mood and busied themselves at something or other.

"What's wrong?" asked Giuseppe, who not rattled at all by his older brother's foul mood. He'd seen it all before.

"The mission, that's what's wrong" Jean growled. He rummaged through his desk drawer and found some headache pills, but there was no water nearby so he swallowed 2 of them dry. He had a hard time getting them down.

Giuse offered him his can of soda, which Jean accepted. "The Paris thing? You & Rico were supposed to leave this afternoon."

"Well, now we aren't!" snapped Jean. He picked up his phone and dialed 3 numbers, hitting the keys far harder than was necessary. "Triela? Yes...tell Claes I want her in the mission room now."

Claes was there in a hurry...Triela probably warned her how angry Jean was, so she wasted no time. The bookish girl looked calm and collected as usual, but her eyes, darting around the room from behind her glasses, looking for an explanation, gave her away. She wondered if she was in trouble, and what kind of trouble it was.

Jean wasted no time. "Have you been telling the other cyborgs about _herbal baths_?" he demanded.

"Ummm...yes, Sir...we've talked about them from time to time" she replied. Jean groaned, and sat down at his desk. He was silent for almost a full minute. "Sir...have I done something wrong?"

"No Claes, you may go back to what you were doing. I don't know what I was hoping to achieve making you come down here" answered the Field Commander.

Now that she felt confident that she was not in trouble Claes became bolder. "Mr. Croce, Sir, if I have done something wrong I would have you tell me!" she demanded.

"It isn't your fault, Claes...just go back to your room" Jean sighed.

About this time Elio entered with a big stack of paperwork. "Oh, come on Croce, tell her what's up...everyone's going to know eventually."

"Fine." Jean growled, "Rico tried her own herbal bath last night...but she used _garlic_." All the handlers in the room burst into laughter. Even Claes snickered, although she covered her mouth so Jean would not see. "It isn't funny! I can't use Rico for the mission...not with her smelling like the back room at a pizzeria! Henrietta & Triela are trying to help her scrub it off, but they'll never get that smell off in a week!" barked Jean, but nobody could stop laughing.

"It sure sounds funny" Elio told him.

"Well you can keep laughing all the way to Paris" Jean snapped, "You and Marisa are the next fratello in line for the mission. How's your French?"

Elio put his paperwork down & with a flourish replied, "Jean, my good Sir, my French is _impeccable_. I have used it to charm my way into some of the most infamous whorehouses in Paris."

"And what about Marisa's French?" asked Jean, with a snide grin.

Elio's face went dour. "Not as good as it should be" he admitted.

Jean handed Elio the mission profile. "Georgio Maribaldi is a multi-millionaire in heavy construction, but he's also a chief contributor to the Padania. Director Petris wants him dead as an example, but we have no chance of assassinating him on home soil...he's just too well protected. This week he's going to be in Paris, where the Padania refuses to extend security to him.

Up until last month the French government was providing assistance to us but that all ended with the last session of the European Parliament. The diplomats for our two countries got into a dispute about health inspections on imported pork products and now we're caught in the middle of the feud."

"So now the Frogs won't let us kill Maribaldi on their soil?" guessed Alboreto.

"Exactly, but you're going to do it anyway. Just don't get caught" replied Jean. "Rico & I have been doing drills for a week to get ready for this mission, that's why I was looking for her that first day we met. Unfortunately you have about 3 hours to get Marisa ready. The train departs at 1600 hours. Olga will drive you to the station." Croce wrapped up by saying, "The special weapons lab came up with some tools for this mission...they're already packed and ready to go, but if you'd like to see the items I'm sure the lab can show you the prototypes."

"What about all this paperwork?" Elio asked.

"You'll have plenty of time to do it on the train" Jean replied. As Elio left to go find Marisa, Jean noticed Claes still standing in the doorway. He said nothing but she felt trapped by his angry stare.

"I-I think I'll go help Triela & 'Etta out with R-Rico..." she stammered.

"I think you'd better" Jean growled.

**_Always Carry a Pencil_**

"I didn't think there were this many cows in all of Europe!" exclaimed Marisa, her nose plastered against the window of the train. All the other passengers thought she was just strange...after all it was pitch dark outside. They had no idea how good her eyes were, no idea that the noisy red haired girl was in fact a cyborg.

"Yes, there are a lot of cows in southern France" muttered Elio, frustrated by the never ending stack of paperwork in front of him. Every time the his excited student bounced & jumped up in her seat she knocked a few papers off his table, but no matter how many times he castigated her and told her to "Sit down!" she was right back up against the window when another fascinating site caught her eye.

"Elio, do you think once we're done in Paris we could go to the French Riviera and do some diving?" Marisa asked.

The man raised his eyebrows. "I think our time would be better spent on a geography lesson" he answered, "the Riviera is _700_ _kilometers_ south of Paris. Speaking of lessons, don't you have an essay to write about that documentary movie on Venetian art?" Alboreto asked.

"I still have to do school work while we're on a mission?" she protested loudly.

"Shhh!" Elio scolded "We do not use the M word in public! And yes...if Jean can give me a bunch of paperwork to do he can sure as heck assign _you_ a little."

She groaned as she pulled a notebook from her backpack "Can I borrow a pencil?"

Getting irritated at his cyborg, Elio took off his glasses, looked her in the eye and muttered, "You mean to tell me you did not bring _one_ pencil with you?"

"I didn't think we were going to Paris to write essays!" she defended herself. Elio grumbled about it, but he fished a pen out of his briefcase and have it to her. "But I can't erase pen if I make a mistake!" she complained...trying anything to get out of an essay she did not feel like writing.

"Then don't make any mistakes" her handler told her, "now get to work before I decide you need to write another essay about always _being prepared_!" With a childish, exaggerated huff she finally started writing. Still intent on completing his work before they reached Paris, Elio got back to his own papers, keeping one eye on her.

Marisa was making progress...she'd gone 3 days without a single outburst...ended only when she tripped in the dining hall and spilled her tray on Ferro. Everybody laughed, mostly at Ferro covered in spaghetti marinara, but Marisa relapsed into a panic attack and had to be helped out of the dining hall by Olga & Petrushka. They both knew by now to take an agitated Marisa to a bathroom and let her run some water over her hands.

For the most part she was doing well though. 3 days was the longest she'd ever gone without a "Marisa moment". Better still, there had not been a single _violent_ outburst since the incident with Elio's car...which was still in the shop.

The down side to the her building confidence was that she was developing a surly attitude, and getting a bit lazy about her school work. That made it very difficult to reward her for maintaining good self control while she also deserved to be punished for backtalk, slacking off, and generally being a difficult cyborg.

Giuseppe Croce offered the most helpful advice during this time. The two men talked while taking a break from the avalanche of paperwork that had hit the Agency lately. "Oh yeah...I've been through that. Whenever I think Henrietta is becoming independent enough for me to back off a little, like Hillshire manages to do with Triela, she starts slipping up...her efficiency on the target range drops...she starts messing up drills...schoolwork suffers. Anyway, I'm forced to pay more attention to her. It took me a while to realize this but she's doing it _intentionally_."

"No shit?" Elio asked.

"She's sneakier than she looks, my 'Etta, and more manipulative than anyone can imagine. She looks like any ordinary 11 year old, but remember she's frozen in time & had _years_ of experience at being that age. Sometimes it works out well for us on missions. I've seen her play the 'scared, cute little girl' act on a man and then shoot him in the chest."

"So what do you do when she tries to pull that shit with you?"

"That's where I'm a big softie," Giuse admitted, "as long as it doesn't effect the mission I give her what she wants, which is usually attention. That's where you have to use your personal judgment."

Elio remembered that conversation as he watched Marisa pretend to struggle along with her essay. Maybe this mission would help. They would be sharing a hotel room, traveling as father & daughter (Elio was far too old to pull off the _big brother_ act that most of the handlers used. He was actually old enough to be Marisa's _grandfather_). They would spend time together, which is what Giuse seemed to think Marisa needed. He hoped this trip would help.

"Mari," he said softly.

"Yes Sir?" she sighed, still over-acting.

"Good penmanship counts" he reminded her, tapping his own pen on the table next to her own sloppily written paper.

_**Paris**_

The cell phone rang while it was still dark in the hotel room. A heavy rain was falling outside, and the sound of falling water had calmed Marisa to the point where she did not even wake from her slumber.

Hours later it was still raining. Marisa slid out of bed, thinking her handler was still asleep, and wondered if it was okay to go downstairs alone to look for breakfast. Maybe she could bring Elio his breakfast in bed, and he would be happier with her.

"Good morning, sleepy" greeted Elio, who _was_ awake. "The mission is rolled back a day. Jean called a few hours ago and told me Maribaldi won't be in town until tomorrow."

"Oh..." Marisa replied, "...so what do we do now?"

"Anything we want" Elio told her, "aren't you glad you finished all your homework on the train last night? Now we have the whole day to do whatever."

Marisa smiled and nodded her head emphatically. She decided not to tell him about the sheet of multiplication problems still due for Miss Priscilla's class. "I thought we might go out and find a cafe for breakfast, then go see the Louvre...or the Centre Pompidou if you're more interested in the modern art. But let's wait and see if this rain stops first."

"Okay" Marisa said, softly. He was much nicer than he had been the last few days. She felt bad about intentionally acting like a brat lately.

The handler continued; "What would you like to see while we have a spare day in Paris?"

"The only thing I know about in Paris is the Eiffel Tower" the girl admitted.

"We can go see that tonight after dinner" he told her, "It's best to see the Eiffel Tower your first time at night, when it's all lit up. Hopefully there's still a little bit of rain, because the lights fill up the whole sky, and reflect in every puddle, it's really very beautiful. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"Like I said, _anything you want_." Elio assured her, "Personally I'm going to stay in bed & relax for a few more hours. If you're going to watch TV could you please keep the volume low? Your cyborg ears should have no trouble hearing everything."

"Anything I want to do?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes Mari, I told you..." Elio began, but stopped in the middle of his sentence. She had hopped into his bed, and already nestled herself into the crook of his right arm, resting her head on his chest. The older man was surprised, but did not object. If this was what she wanted...hopefully it would help make things a little easier. She _did_ have a huge smile on her face for a change. Together they listened to the sound of the rain splashing off the Parisian rooftops.

* * *

The next day it was time for work, but the rain had not stopped. The plan was to get close to Maribaldi using Marisa. She would carry an umbrella provided by the special weapons lab. The tip was armed with a dart that would be fired by high-pressure air. When she got the chance she would get close to Maribaldi and fire the dart into his ribs. In theory, it would be quiet enough that nobody would realize what had happened until Marisa & Elio had made their escape.

Marisa had other things on her mind. As the two walked side by side down the street she gazed up at her handler, resplendent in his grey trench-coat & matching wide brimmed fedora. Rain streamed off his hat & shoulders, she felt that he looked like the perfect secret agent...straight out of a movie. She on the other hand..."I look like a dork."

"Huh?"

"I said I look like a dork" she muttered.

Elio groaned, "What's wrong now?"

"This is the _best_ raincoat we could get?" She was dressed in a hooded slicker with matching yellow boots. They had neglected to pack her a rain-coat, necessitating a trip to the children's section of the nearest _Monoprix_ department store during their sightseeing the day before.

"We could have gotten the _pink_ one" Elio teased with a chuckle, but his young charge did not think it was funny.

"How am I supposed to be a super-assassin in this stupid thing?" she complained.

"Focus on the mission Mari" ordered Alboreto, but she was stuck on the subject.

"Triela has a cool coat..." she muttered.

Elio was getting impatient. They could see the target walking down the street toward them and Marisa was talking about outerwear. "Alright, I'll talk to Hillshire about where he gets Triela's clothes made once we get back, now focus on the mission like I told you! Do you even know how many bodyguards there are?"

With a groan Marisa answered "There are six. 4 of them smoke. 5 are right handed, 1 left handed. One has a limp, he's walking awkwardly on it so it's a recent injury. The one with the limp is the only one with a long coat so if any of them is carrying a street-sweeper it's him."

"That's better" Elio replied, "If things get ugly take out that one carrying the shotgun first. Those bodyguards won't let me get anywhere Maribaldi so it's up to you. Drop that bag of oranges so that one rolls toward his feet, then chase it. When you get the chance, tag him _accidentally_ with the umbrella."

"Yeah, yeah we rehearsed it like a dozen times!" Marisa sighed.

"And you duffed it up 8 of those times!" Elio reminded her, "Now zip that smart mouth and take this seriously, it's not a game, and you don't have the advantage of water like you did when you killed that arms dealer in Piombino."

Marisa recognized the annoyance in her handler's voice and decided to take her attitude down a notch before it got her into trouble. She said nothing and concentrated on Maribaldi and his bodyguards. Her cyborg ears could hear them already; they were laughing & joking in Italian...their guard was down, and that was good.

"Now!" Elio whispered.

Marisa stumbled as rehearsed & spilled her paper bag. Elio had thought of everything, he'd even bought hard, un-ripe oranges so they would roll better. The _vendeur des fruits_ had thought he was a fool. 3 of the oranges rolled straight to Maribaldi's feet just as planned. _Too easy._

The bodyguards roughly ushered Elio out of the path of their boss so he played the part of the offended local, "_Que c'est vous?_" Mari however did not give them the chance to stop her...she dashed past the guards without making eye contact, pretending she hadn't seen them. For all they knew she was just a clumsy Parisian kid chasing her dropped groceries. As she crawled along on her knees, snatching up oranges with her left hand, she armed the air-dart umbrella with her right hand.

"It's pouring rain" Maribaldi observed in Italian, "and she's carrying an umbrella. Why isn't she using it? Stupid goddamn French."

Maribaldi might have missed the reason, but the bodyguards knew what was up as soon as he said it! They shielded their client and knocked the umbrella out of Mari's hand! It had all gone wrong...time for plan "B"! Marisa spun around and kicked the man in the long coat in his weak leg, the one he was limping on!

In a flash, guns were drawn! Marisa reached for her Beretta but it was stuck inside the damned yellow slicker, and the buttons were too slippery! A pistol was aimed directly at her face! Desperately she grasped the umbrella, but she didn't have time.

The man's head exploded! Elio had drawn his Colt 1911 and saved her. He saw what was wrong and tossed her his pistol. "Get the mark!" he shouted in English, a language the both spoke reasonably well but hopefully Maribaldi's men didn't.

For a second Marisa watched her handler in worshipful awe. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, but Elio reacted and blocked punches before they were even thrown! He'd already disarmed 2 more men when Marisa snapped out of her daze and got back to work. She shot one of the men fighting Elio and turned her attention to Maribaldi.

Another threat...the man with the limp had rolled over on his back and he did have a shotgun. Mari jumped into the street to draw his fire away from Elio...regardless of how the mission ended she could never allow him to get shot.

The man fired but blasted a nearby Citroen with pellets. Marisa had time to line up her shot, and put a bullet in his neck. It was not enough...he cocked his weapon again, but this time he never got a chance to fire. Mari put three .45 caliber rounds from Elio's gun into him.

Maribaldi was getting away. The remaining 2 guards had run him down the street to a waiting Peugeot, so Mari ran after him, still holding the umbrella, and exchanging rounds with the men. She hit one bodyguard in the shoulder, but the pistol clicked before she could get to Maribaldi. _Out of bullets...and Elio has the full magazines!_ There was no time to fumble with her coat to get her own pistol out so Marisa made a dash for her target. The one remaining uninjured guard slashed at her with a knife but she got to Maribaldi and jammed the umbrella tip under his ribs. The poison air-pressure dart was redundant, she slammed it so deep into him that the wound alone would be fatal.

Exposed by her focus on the mark, Marisa was unable to block a powerful blow from the wounded guard's pistol butt, directly to her face. She tumbled to the street, bleeding from around her eye.

Dazed, Marisa got up. The Peugeot was speeding away, and already she could hear police sirens. Franticly she looked for Elio, and saw him standing unhurt about 25 meters from her. "_Gendarme_ coming!" he shouted, "Split up...meet and the rendezvous!"

She nodded, and ran. Several police cars were already arriving on the scene, so she slowed a block later and tried to blend in. Marisa tucked Elio's empty Colt into her slicker.

This was bad. The operation had gotten screwed up and she was sure it was her fault. Marisa was separated from her handler (who now had no gun), in a strange city where she could speak only a few words of the language.

Worst of all, the rendezvous point, established when Jean & Rico were planning the mission, was "Hemingway's house." Marisa had no idea who Mr. or Mrs. Hemingway was, or where this house could be found.

* * *

"First thing's first" thought Marisa, trying to stay calm & focused. This would be a very bad time to have a panic attack, so she tried her best to concentrate and force the doubts out of her mind. "By this time witnesses will have reported what they saw. Police will be looking for a girl in a yellow raincoat, with yellow boots." She had to ditch that stuff, but not in a garbage can where it could be found. She couldn't leave a trail that could be tracked.

The Notre Dame cathedral offered the answer. It was only a few blocks away, so she got there as fast as possible, slipping through shadows & alleys when she could. Upon arriving on the _Ile de la Cite_ she saw what she was looking for. Groups of school children in raincoats just like hers.

Marisa didn't like the idea of going near a church, even if it was only the coat-room. She slipped into a class group that was shedding their rain gear before taking a field-trip tour, and discarded her coat. "_Better ditch the boots too_" she thought. She was wearing dark brown tights under her skirt so she hoped nobody would notice her lack of footwear. As she took her coat off Marisa noticed her upper right arm. "_Damn_!" she cursed, "_That guy tagged me with his knife!_" It didn't hurt, and the bleeding had stopped already, but it was visible and would draw attention to her.

Washing up in the bathroom sinks was impossible...too many people, kids & adults, milling around. Mari did the only thing she could, and locked herself in a toilet stall to wash her bloody arm. "This is _so gross_" she whispered to herself, splashing water from a public toilet into her open wound. She knew cyborgs were immune to most human infections but it was still disgusting. A strip of cloth cut from the bottom hem of her blouse, along with some paper hand towels, was the best dressing she could make at the moment. Luckily the cut on her eye, where she'd been hit with the pistol butt, had already clotted and ceased bleeding. She would have one hell of a black eye though.

Exiting the bathroom Marisa began to look for a way to slip away. Both teachers & sharp-eyed nuns (who Mari did _not_ want a run-in with) patrolled the cathedral grounds, watching for any school-children that might wander off, or try to slip away from their field trip. This would take stealth. Elio had drilled her on patience, and even though her instincts _screamed_ urgency she focused on the training her handler had given her.

She waited over an hour, milling around with various un-uniformed school groups, and watching the patterns of the nuns. She was unconcerned with the teachers, they only worried about their own class, but those nuns...they sent a chill down her artificial spine and she didn't know why.

At last, Marisa saw her opportunity. When the cathedral bells rang it distracted everyone, so she timed her escape to coincide with that. Mari grabbed a pamphlet and followed a family of overweight American tourists...not so close that they would notice, but close enough that onlookers might think she was one of them. Keeping her eyes on the pamphlet, she followed the American father's enormous butt...out of the grounds and to the foot of the Pont D'Arcole bridge, where she turned away and dashed across the River Seine.

"_Now what?_" she asked herself.

Safe refuge was found under the Pont Royal bridge. Mari had run past five other bridges before she had felt it was safe to slow down and hide. The bridge offered her shelter from the rain, and from the eyes of people. She needed time to think things through...time to figure out what to do. Marisa was sure she had failed in some critical area...either the mission planning or her basic education. She had no idea where _Hemingway's House_ was. The name sounded English...surely he was one of Elio's old spy buddies from MI-6. Unfortunately, that didn't help much. Spies were unlikely to be listed in the Paris phone book... at least by their real names.

As hard as she tried to fight it, doubt wormed its way into Marisa's mind. "What if I never find Hemingway? What if I never find Elio?"

The thought was too much for her, and a full-blown panic attack was just moments away! Her fingers were drawn to something she didn't want to think about. It was in her pocket, scorned and ignored, but now she was unable to ignore it.

**_Needles_**

"Do you want to practice using it, Marisa?"

"Hell no" she snapped.

Elio was not pleased with her attitude, "At least do a run-through Mari. You don't have to stick yourself."

Marisa didn't even want to acknowledge the wretched thing in her hand...this injector full of conditioning. It meant the death of everything she loved, if she used it even once she might be giving up the sea forever. Still, an order from Elio was absolute, and could not be ignored.

Dr. Donato was understanding...he gently explained and walked her through the steps. "When you feel the need, you break off the cap, and shove the pen into a thick, meaty part of your body, like your behind. You won't feel a thing, and within seconds a full dose of conditioning will be flowing though your veins."

"Elio, this sucks, do I have to?" she complained.

He nodded his head, "I know you don't want to accept this, and I hope you never have to use it, but this injector could pull you out of a panic attack if a bad one happens at the wrong moment. What if something happened on a mission?"

"I'd never have a 'Marisa moment' on a mission" she muttered.

Elio was a little disappointed by her continued use of that term...he was trying to steer her away from it. "Mari, we've only been on _one_ simple assassination mission so far, you can't predict what it will be like every time out there." He put his hand on her shoulder and added "Just carry it with you...just in case."

* * *

This was it, the 'just in case' moment. Marisa held the injector pen in her trembling hand, trying to breathe, trying to fight back the chaos filling her own mind. She tried to think of her friend Mama Galati, and recite a mantra of her name as Chief Lorenzo taught her, but she was too agitated to concentrate. Marisa knew if she started having an attack now somebody would see her, they would call the police, and who knew what would happen then. "_Fight it, fight it_!" she urged herself but it wasn't working...she had no choice...she had to use the injector. Hands shaking, Marisa snapped the cap off as she had been shown.

Then she saw it...a gleaming hypodermic needle...and a surge of rage flooded through her body! She had no idea why she hated that tiny piece of steel, but it was uncontrollable! Marisa threw the injector on the ground and stomped it as hard as she could! When the device was in a hundred pieces on the stones she kicked it into the Seine, where it sank beneath the murky waters.

Marisa had no idea why she had reacted in that way at the sight of the needle. It was like déjà vu, like a memory she felt but could not bring to the forefront of her conscious mind. Whatever it was, she hated it...she knew she had been hurt by needles at some point in her existence. So now there was no more conditioning injector.

Both the rage and the anxiety attack were past now. Marisa could breathe, she could think again, but her predicament had not gotten any easier. "_I can't spend all damn day under this bridge_" she told herself. There was one more thing. "_I can't get caught with a murder weapon_." She still had Elio's Colt 1911. She still had her Beretta but she hadn't fired that in the fight. It was Elio's Colt that connected her to that. She wondered if the French still used the guillotine on murderers like her.

Carefully drawing it out of her wet jacket she looked at it, and ran her fingers over the cold metal. She began to tear up when she accepted what she had to do.

Marisa stood up and heaved the pistol out into the river! With a splash it was gone. She felt a surge of terror, and considered diving in to recover it...her last physical connection to Elio and safety. It was gone though...she'd never find it even if she tried.

By now the spot under the Pont Royal bridge was the last place she wanted to be, so Marisa marched back out into the rain to find Mr. Hemingway's house.

* * *

It was late afternoon and the rain hadn't stopped. Marisa was getting nowhere. Her French was good enough to ask "_Pardon, ou est la maison du Monsieur Hemingway_?" but not good enough to understand people's answers. "_Why didn't I pay closer attention in Mr. Hillshire's language lessons!_" Most just shrugged their shoulders anyway.

She knew it was a long shot...asking for one man in a city of over 2 million. Hemingway was probably a spy who didn't use his real name anyway.

Marisa glanced at her cut arm. "Shit" she muttered. It was bleeding through and needed to be cleaned. "Just as well" she admitted, "I _really_ need to go anyway."

A cheap tourist store seemed like her best option. Marisa slipped in, past the lazy clerk who was watching a small black & white TV, and back to the restroom. At least this time she was alone, with a lock on the door. This time she only needed to pee in the toilet, not wash her wound in it!

The bathroom had a mirror. Mari checked her eye...good...it was discolored & puffy, but not a full-blown shiner yet. She redressed the cut on her arm, fixed her wet hair as well as she could, and walked out. This time there must have been a commercial on the television because the clerk saw her, and shouted at her rudely! He was talking so loud and fast she couldn't understand a thing. The obnoxious clerk must have been accustomed to tourists that did not speak French, so he angrily banged on a sign that conveyed his message in 10 different languages. There it was in Italian "BATHROOM IS FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY."

Marisa was tempted to pull out her Beretta and make this asshole shit his pants but that would only make her situation worse. He was already waving around his telephone threatening that he would "...vais appeler la police!"

Angrily she dug into her pocket and produced the only money she had...the 1 euro coin Elio had let her keep back in Piombino. She slammed it down on the counter and grabbed the nearest item in arms reach...a little notebook with a fake black leather cover. Marisa didn't care if it cost more or less than a euro...that was all this jerk was getting! "_Asino buco_" she muttered in Italian as she stomped out with her notebook.

_**The Algerians**_

It was early evening and still it rained. Marisa had wandered to the vicinity of the Eiffel Tower in the hopes that Elio would return to where they had visited the previous night. No luck though.

She was shivering in the cold rain & getting really tired. Still without shoes, her tights had begun to wear through at the feet. Worst was her hunger...made worse by the smells of food from the many restaraunts & street vendors.

"_Amandes grillees?_" asked a dark skinned girl about Marisa's height & age. She smiled and offered a tray, roasted almonds in little paper cups.

Marisa waved her off and admitted, "_Je n'ai pas d'argent_." She pulled out her empty pockets for emphasis.

The girl giggled and told her, "_Essai gratuit_!" That was enough like the Italian _esempio gratuito_ that Mari understood. The girl handed Marisa a free sample cup of almonds, which brought a massive smile to the young cyborg's face. "_Merci, merci beaucoup_!" she thanked her.

The girl had just offered Marisa a second cup of nuts when her mother noticed what was going on. Mari flinched and prepared to run as the tall, slim woman in a Muslim head scarf rushed over, but the mother was not trying to chase her off. Shock and sympathy was written all over her face. "_Ma cheri, ou est votre parents?_"She looked down at Marisa's feet"_Ou est votre chaussures!_"

Marisa asked her usual question, "_Pardon, ou est la maison du Monsieur Hemingway? Mon Papa est voila_" but the mother did not have an answer. Marisa wondered if she was even saying it right.

After exchanging a few quick words with her daughter in a language Marisa didn't understand the woman ushered Mari into an apartment building, leaving the almond-roasting cart in the command of her teenaged son. Mother and daughter brought Marisa upstairs to their home, a tiny apartment on the 4th floor. It was small, but it was warm and dry.

In an instant, bread and a bowl of thin vegetable soup were placed before Marisa. She looked at the soup pot and it broke her heart. It was so small, and had a big dent in the heavy pot lid...these people had so little but they shared it with a stranger without question.

The mother attempted to remove Marisa's wet jacket, but the cyborg stopped her. She had her pistol hidden in there, and could not risk it being seen. The woman seemed to accept it, but turned to her daughter and gave a soft order in the language Marisa did not understand. The girl rushed into another room, and Mari could hear water running.

About this time the father of the family came home from his job. He did not seem surprised by the unexpected guest...he must have spoken to his son down at the almond cart already. The 3 family members sat down and filled their own soup bowls, then ate with Marisa. The father proudly motioned toward a map of North Africa, pointing out the town of Kherarba, where they had a push-pin stuck in the map. So these people were Algerian.

After eating Marisa was shown the bathroom, where the daughter had run her a tub of hot water. Mistaking Marisa's concerns about her pistol for bashfulness the mother closed the door and left her alone to undress.

Marisa took no chances. She made sure her Beretta was wrapped up inside her shirt, and that inside her jacket, before slipping into the bath. She carefully cleaned her arm wound again, and re-dressed it. There was no mirror in this bathroom but Mari could feel that her face was getting puffier, more swollen. She ran cold water over a wash-cloth and draped it across her eyes.

She dozed off.

Marisa awoke with a start! She quickly determined that she had only snoozed for a few minutes...the light in the window had not changed. In a panic she looked for her clothes, and they were gone, along with her gun!

"This is bad!" Marisa groaned as she scrambled out of the tub. There was only a towel to wrap herself in, but she used it and dashed out of the bathroom. She was too late.

The mother had slipped in and taken Marisa's clothes, in a kindly attempt to dry them. Of course, she had found the Beretta. It was laying on the table where they had all just eaten, and the 2 adults stared at it. Then they stared at Marisa.

The father began yelling in French, but Mari could not understand through his Algerian accent. He was putting on a brave show but Marisa recognized the look of fear in his eyes and those of his wife. These people had obviously been the victims of violence...at the hands of people with guns. "_People like me_" she lamented "_These people were kind to me, and I returned their kindness by bringing a gun into their house..._"

The commotion drew the attention of the young daughter, who had gone into the bedroom. She called out in Arabic, but her mother ordered her to stay in her room. The father never took his eyes off Marisa.

Marisa knew her orders. _If anyone sees you on a mission, you must kill them_. No. She couldn't do it, and besides, it wasn't a good idea. Killing a whole family would attract attention, and put the police on her trail. She had to solve this, she had to keep calm, this would be the worst possible time to slip into a panic attack.

The young cyborg put her hands up slowly in a gesture of peace. She reached slowly toward the table, and picked up the heavy pot lid with the dent in it. She placed her fingers on opposite sides of the lid, her thumbs in the dent, and she popped the dent out effortlessly. No normal human could do that. The Algerian couple gasped!

She then eyed a dart board on the other side of the room. Slowly she approached it with the same slow caution, and plucked all 6 darts out. Carefully, Marisa went to the farthest point in the room. She turned her back...exhaled...and turned in a flash! She threw all six darts faster than the eye could see!

All six darts hit the bulls-eye! The Algerian's were in awe! Marisa opened her mouth and said in French "_Je ne suis pas le meme_. _Je ne suis pas l'homme._" I am not the same. I am not human.

"_Allahu Ackbar..._" the father muttered. His wife's eyes lit up, and she tossed a cloth over the pistol just in time as their daughter dashed into the room. She was carrying a pair of shoes, and she immediately dropped to her knees and picked up one of Marisa's feet. The shoes fit, so the Algerian girl hopped up and smiled.

"I...I can't..." Marisa stammered. This girl was giving a gift of her own shoes! She made it impossible for Marisa to refuse by kissing her on both cheeks. The parents smiled in approval.

**_Night & Dawn_**

It was after dark and still raining when Marisa left. She had dry clothes, a good dressing on her injured arm, and if not a full stomach she was much better off than before. The shoes she had on her feet were cheap canvas with hard rubber soles but they were almost new. The Algerian girl had obviously given Marisa her _newest_ shoes. After a day of walking around Paris in just her tights the cheap slip-ons felt magnificent on her feet.

The Algerian family had given her a second chance, recharged batteries, and the search for Mr. Hemingway's house resumed. There were fewer and fewer people on the streets as it got later & later. Within a few hours Marisa felt like the only one walking the streets of Paris. It wasn't long before she was just as hungry, wet, and lonely as before, but she was resolved not to be miserable. She had to be successful, she had to find Elio...she owed it to the people who helped her.

Around midnight the rain finally stopped. Mari felt like she'd searched every street in Paris but still didn't have a clue where she would find Elio. What were her options? Walk back to Italy? She didn't have a single euro for transportation, and to be honest she didn't think she could locate the Social Welfare Compound even if she _did_ get back to Rome. Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it right here in Paris.

Dawn broke and the city was still damp with the night's rain. _Boulangeries_ were putting out the first fresh bread of the morning, and trucks unloaded crates at the vegetable markets. Soon it would be time to start asking the question again, "where is the house of Monsieur Hemingway," asking until her throat was hoarse.

Marisa chose the first...2 men, one young man with a short haircut and an older man with a beard (maybe about Elio's age) on bicycles. They had just bought some fruit from a vendor, so she approached them with her question, "_Pardon, ou est la maison du Monsieur Hemingway?_"

To her surprise, the younger man answered in French, "_L' auteur Hemingway? C'est..._" but he paused and said to the older man "Jeeze, I wish my French was better."

"You're doing much better than me" his older companion replied. Marisa's ear's perked up! They were speaking English, and Mari's English was _much_ better than her French! For some reason English just came easily to her, like Mr. Hillshire was reminding her of something she already knew rather than teaching her something.

"You are English?" she asked hopefully.

"No, we're Americans" the older man told her. Marisa breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can speak English very well" she told them, "better than French."

"Good, so do we" laughed the younger man, "you want to see the house where Ernest Hemingway lived in the 1920's?"

Marisa was confused, but it was better than nothing, "Ehhh, Yes...please."

"Who are you with?" the older man asked her.

"I am to meet my father there" she replied. It was _almost_ the truth.

"Oh..." said the younger man with a nod, "...are you on holiday, vacation?"

"Yes, Sir" she lied.

Both of them seemed satisfied, "Us too," the younger man told her, "this is _my_ father...he came over from the United States to visit me."

"I thought you were both Americans?" Marisa inquired.

The father explained, "My son is in the American Air Force, and lives in Germany. I flew over to visit him and we're touring around Europe by train. Hemingway's old house is not far from here, we can show you the way."

This was a huge relief to Marisa. She was used to military people, she felt comfortable around them. The young cyborg was confident that even if she did not find her handler at Hemingway's house a soldier would not abandon her. Maybe these men could even help her get back to Rome. She even wondered if it was okay to tell the young military man about the Social Welfare Agency if things got really desperate...he _must_ have some level of security clearance.

"So what about you?" asked the father as they walked "I'm guessing you're Irish."

"Ummm, no" answered Marisa, "I'm from Italia...Rome."

"Then your English teacher must be Irish, you have a distinct accent" he continued. Marisa was puzzled but decided not to argue...Mr. Hillshire was German, not Irish.

The father carefully brushed her hair aside to look at her black eye and asked, "Are you alright? It looks like you took a real bump to the head."

Marisa played off a crafty lie. She smiled, patted the older man's bicycle seat and replied "I fell off _my_ bicycle." In truth Marisa had never ridden a bicycle in her life, but she embellished by adding, "My papa was _really_ worried when he saw me fall, but when he knew I was okay he got _really_ mad at me for not wearing my helmet!" The 2 men laughed...they believed her fabrication.

At this point the younger man opened a paper sack and offered her an apple. She gratefully accepted and amazed the 2 men by consuming the whole thing in minutes, core & all!

For about 20 minutes the trio walked the damp streets of Paris, the 2 men pushing their bicycles. Marisa felt at ease & chattered freely about the sights she'd seen.

"Is that your father?" asked the older man as they walked down the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine.

Marisa looked up to see a familiar and wonderful sight...Elio, still in his grey trench coat & fedora, standing underneath a sign that informed tourists that Ernest Hemingway had lived in this house, #74, during his younger days. He looked like he had been there waiting all night. Marisa ran to him, and threw her arms around him! Everything would be alright now! "I-I lost your C-Colt...I had to throw it in the river." Marisa admitted.

Her handler was unconcerned about that. "You did the right thing, and besides, I got my favorite weapon back all the same. I thought you were lost..." Elio told her, the relief evident in his voice, "...are you alright? Did you have to hide from the police?"

"No," Marisa told him, as tears of joy streamed down her cheeks "I didn't know where Hemingway's house was, or even who Hemingway was! I couldn't find you! I looked all over Paris!"

"I'm sorry..." groaned Elio, hugging her tight, "...I should have made sure you knew where the rendezvous point was...it's my fault. How did you eventually find this place?"

Marisa turned to look for the 2 friends who had helped her, but they were already pedaling away. "I got lots of help" she answered.

* * *

Elio & Marisa checked into a different hotel using alternate passports. While Mari ordered food from room service Elio checked in with headquarters. Jean informed him that Georgio Maribaldi was in fact dead, and the mission was a success. He was dispatching Olga with a car to transport the fratello to Cannes, where a boat would take them out of the country.

"I guess we _are_ going to the French Riviera after all" Elio joked.

"Cool, too bad we don't have our dive gear!" Marisa replied, but then she thought of something, "Aw man...if we abandon our bags at that last hotel does that mean I have to do my report for Mr. Jean's class all over again?"

"Olga will fetch our bags before she picks us up" laughed Elio, laying back on the bed. "We have a whole day and a half to wait for her...but Jean wants us to lay low in the hotel."

"Perfect!" Marisa chirped. She hopped up on Elio's bed and nestled into the crook of his arm, resting her head on his chest "That's exactly what I wanted to do!"

**END**


End file.
